Fortress of the Forgotten: Book One of the Swordmaster Series

by Rutger Krenn

  The shadow which had fallen over the gates receded and warmth came back into the air. For a fleeting moment the Duke felt the presence of a mind, a mind superior to his own; stronger, ruthless and filled with a malice beyond his comprehension. He sensed an elusive impression of frustration and then it withdrew beyond his reach, gone as though it had never been. Not yet was the time come for a confrontation between the Turgil and the Wizard, but in that moment Kenrik realized it was inevitable and when it occurred the future of Aren Daleth would hang on the outcome.

  His mind worked quickly and he put aside these thoughts for the more immediate concern of the Goblins. His men were ready and waiting as the first ranks of the enemy reached the walls. The ladders were thrown up and straightaway weighed down with hundreds of climbing Goblins. The hooked ropes flew over the battlements and the enemy scrambled up them like a plague of spiders.

  The defenders began cutting ropes and pushing ladders sideways to topple them over. Many of the enemy were dashed to the ground far below and yet the rest continued to swarm closer toward their goal.

  Some of the ladders had been constructed with iron spikes toward the top end that were designed to catch in the gaps filled with softer mortar between the bricks or against the edges of the crenellations. Many of the ropes had iron wire threaded through their ends near the hook to hinder severing by the Northmen.

  Smoke and screams billowed up toward the defenders as boiling oil, pitched from above, took its gruesome effect. The Duke was repulsed by this and yet he hardened his heart to what must be done for the defense of his home.

  Despite the best efforts of the soldiers the Goblins came on and Kenrik and his men faced the swiftest and most daring climbers who sought to take the wall near the gates. They finally reached the top of the battlements and the clash of sword on sword grew more frequent as scores more of them followed and met their hated opponents atop the walls further along on each side.

  The Duke’s sword was dripping with blood. He turned and saw Cadrafer struggling close by with a large Goblin who carried a sword in one hand and a knife in the other. The Captain of the Guard was bleeding freely from a slash across his cheek. Kenrik stepped forward and ran the Goblin through. There was no time for comment. Even before it fell he and Cadrafer had turned and moved on to new opponents. There was no time for thanks. There was only time for the swinging of swords and the bloody work of long knives and stout axes.

  On came the Goblins and it seemed as though their numbers were endless and nothing would stop them. Many had been killed by bow shot even before they reached the walls and hundreds of others had been slain as they climbed. Large numbers lay sprawled in bloody death atop the battlements or had been hurled over the edge to dislodge their brethren who hoped to take their place.

  The Goblins were being slaughtered and yet for all that the defenders were dying too. Kenrik looked around in a brief moment of respite and knew that this could not go on for long. As he paused he watched Barad yell a battle cry in a strange language. He sprang like forked lightning among the enemy where they had gathered the thickest.

  Barad's double-bladed axe swung up and down, right and left. It moved in straight lines and circles. Wherever it passed there were severed limbs and sprays of blood. He fought like no man the Duke, or any of the Northmen, had ever seen before.

  “Come!” said Kenrik and he and Cadrafer with a half dozen soldiers ran to where the Axeman fought against the largest breach on the walls. There was a surging of Goblins who were overwhelming the defenders.

  The Goblins fought like fiends but Barad was like a prince of death upon the battlements. The Goblins had surrounded a knot of soldiers, scimitars lifting and falling and bringing darkness to the defenders and then as suddenly as it had begun the tide turned. Barad had unleashed himself upon them and then soon after Kenrik and his men had arrived. The Goblins faltered under this renewed resistance and fell quickly.

  No more came to replace them as the ladder was finally toppled from the walls. All over the rest of the battlements the fighting was quieting down and the defenders were repulsing the attacks. In moments the hordes were gone and the last of the ladders broken or toppled. The Goblin bodies were hurled from the battlements at those below and the long arrows of the Northmen followed them as they fled.

  A sudden silence swept over Thromdar as the defenders watched the enemy retreat and gave thanks that they were still alive. Slowly, one by one they began to take up their normal actions. They wiped sweat from faces and cleaned the blood from hands and weapon as best they could.

  The Duke did the same. The charge had been broken and the defenders victorious but he was weary beyond anything that he had known before. He leaned upon his sword and looked at Barad.

  Barad appeared no different than when they had first met. He wasn’t even breathing heavily as he ripped some cloth from a Goblin tunic and began to clean the axe’s blades. He inspected it closely for any damage.

  “You saved us there,” said the Duke. “They were almost through our defenses and would have broken through had you not set upon them when you did.”

  The Axeman shrugged. “Who knows? But I don’t think the fortress will fall so soon. The lads fight well and there’ll be fire in their bellies for a while yet.”

  The Duke regained his breath as men cleaned the battlements of gore. The stone was washed down with water to remove blood that could be slippery beneath the Northmen’s feet and cause disease to spread among them. Then it was covered with sawdust to dry up the moisture.

  Men worked quickly and brought up new supplies of arrows for the archers and removed the bodies of the defenders who had fallen. Those who were wounded made their way down to the hospice by themselves if they could. Others were carried on stretchers.

  It was a sad sight for Kenrik who had often looked before at the growing dawn or the setting of the sun from these very battlements. He had felt the clean valley air rise up to the castle causing a cool breeze on hot summer days and heard from afar the calling of birds within the timbered stretches of the valley rims. Even should he survive this siege he would never be able to stand here and enjoy the beauty of Thromdar without remembering the dead and dying.

  It seemed as though there was no other attack from the Goblins forthcoming and he beckoned Cadrafer to follow him.

  “It’s time to find Arandur,” he said, “and see if he brings any news. Not likely I suppose, but failing that he will at least give advice and there’s no one else’s counsel I’d rather have.”

  “Truly,” agreed Cadrafer, and the pair left the battlements and went toward the castle.

  They found the Wizard standing before the same window Kenrik often looked out of. He appeared lost in thought.

  Kenrik thought he had aged in the many years since he had last seen him, but only a little. He still had the same healthy glow in his skin and the lithe look of a younger man. Of course, no one knew just how old he was but there were many rumors. There were plenty of legends as well about the things he’d done. The Duke had witnessed several things himself which convinced him that Wizard, and Arandur more than any other, had power and skill. He also knew that his advice was always good. That didn’t mean he didn’t have secrets though.

  “Greetings, O Duke,” said Arandur without turning.

  “Well met,” said Kenrik, pulling up a chair while Cadrafer fetched watered wine.

  “It’s a hard trial that has been given to you,” said the Wizard. “So far you have done well, and that is for the good. Thromdar still stands, and that is all that can be expected of you. Know this however; it was for this siege you were born: to hold the castle as long as possible. Every day, even every hour, will count. Each second that passes brings the chance of greater hope for Aren Daleth.”

  Cadrafer had soon filled three glasses and Kenrik sipped the wine. “You seem to know about our problems here, and I’m glad that you’ve come. I need your help. All of Aren Daleth needs your help.”

  “Then, O
Duke, you shall have it. But be warned: there is little I can do against the hordes. They will be your concern. Mine is of another nature.”

  Kenrik nodded slowly. “The Turgil?”

  “Yes. Against such as he your men cannot stand. If the Goblins fail to overcome us quickly he will try to win the siege by sorcery. Against that, I can perhaps offer some protection. For the rest, you and your men will have to look to it.”

  “So be it. It is good that you are here. You may not be able help against the Goblins but your presence gives the men hope, and that will help them stand for a while longer.”

  “And what of yourself, O Duke? Do you have any hope?”

  Kenrik took a deep drink of the wine.

  “I will do everything that I can, but I feel old, Arandur. Old before my time. I will be honest with you, as I have learned long since that it is pointless to be otherwise. Since Alanya died I have found little hope in anything. Only my daughter gave me joy and provided meaning for my life. As for Aren Daleth? I don’t think it can survive. The kingdom was fashioned out of the wilderness and born of a struggle with Eruthram and the Goblins of these mountains who worship him. For a time we prevailed; for a time there was happiness. But that time has passed as all such times eventually must. History is one long record of momentary victories, always followed by inevitable defeat. Nothing that is good has ever lasted. Evil, or at least the passage of time, prevails in the end.”

  “There is much to what you say,” answered Arandur. “Perhaps more than you know. I have often seen such struggles. Many times the enemy has overcome us and won a victory, destroying that which was good, but I tell you this also; the enemy does not always win. Sometimes goodness prevails. It does not mean that it will last forever, but that is the nature of the world. There is good and evil, and the two are in constant conflict. When you feel you cannot change the outcome it is still the way that you fight that matters most. And I tell you truly, O Duke, that is because there is no such thing as certain defeat. It is hope that keeps the heart alive. Hope for the fulfilment of dreams. The fate of this land stands upon the edge of a knife. Death and destruction loom at every turn. Every turn but one, and from that direction the hope is but small. Yet for that hope, however small, we must fight as though we believe in ultimate success.”

  “You speak of Talon. Though how you know of his mission I don’t know, but even if he’s still alive, is there any real chance of him reaching the army or of its returning in time? It would be one chance in a million and who could have real hope in odds like that?”

  “One chance in a million,” repeated the Wizard. “That may be true. Were not some of your exploits in the past of like kind though? And yet you achieved them.”

  Arandur sat down and took a glass of wine. “What if I told you that Talon remains a free man? That he has escaped the reach of the Goblin armies and even now makes his way with speed toward the Stone Mountains? He faces peril of which you, and even he, knows nothing, and yet he has not given up hope. He will return if anyone can.”

  The Duke leaned forward. “You have seen him?”

  “I have. What is more, I have spoken to him. He’s a good lad, and there’s more to him than meets the eye. He’s humble and good mannered, but he has a will of iron.”

  “Was there a girl with him?” asked the Duke.

  “Do not fear. Your daughter is well. She is with him and they ride together. They ride with Aren Daleth in their minds and the hope of the kingdom in their hearts.”

  “Then my burden is lightened. She may yet live, even though her home is destroyed.”

  “She is alive and well. Indeed, she seems to be enjoying the adventure somewhat. At least, she seems to be enjoying giving young Talon a hard time, but that also is the way of the world.”

  The Duke laughed and the worry for her safety that had been building up inside him was released. “Truly, you don’t need to be a Wizard to know that! But it’s good for me to know she is well. I don’t know if she’ll ever return to her home. I don’t know if the castle will exist in her future. It may be razed to the ground, but I’ll do all in my power to prevent that. While I live I’ll fight to make sure she has a home to return to. Thromdar won’t fall for many days if I can help it.”

  “That is all that your destiny asks of you,” said Arandur. “For the moment, it is enough.”

  Cadrafer topped up their glasses. “Do you know, Arandur, that the Axeman fights with us?” he said.

  The Wizard looked into his wine as though he could read the future in the swirling liquid. At length, he shrugged. “I know that he fights here for I asked him to come. I doubted he would turn up the chance. You cannot place too much reliance on one man but know this; you will need him many times before the end. He has a part to play for the defense of the castle, and maybe even beyond.”

  “He fights like ten men,” said the Duke. “I’ve never seen anything like it and don’t doubt that he’ll help Thromdar stand as long as possible. We have plans in place to help us fight the Goblins as long as we can. The soldiers will man the battlements in shifts and reserves will be kept, small as that force will be, to help in the fighting when needed. This much we can plan for. But the Turgil is a different matter. For that, we will need your advice. What will he do? What can we do to hinder him?”

  Arandur leaned back in his chair. “It was for that purpose I came,” he said. “When evil rises so too do the powers that ever contend with it. Men must battle the servants of destruction; Wizardry oppose dark sorcery and courage vie against despair. So it has been through the long ages and so it will continue. Unless darkness triumphs forever.”

  The Wizard sipped at his wine, deep in thought. “Your fight and mine are different, and yet linked. Both of us must succeed for a while, and the odds are against that. As you are outmatched by the Goblins, so too am I outmatched by the Turgil. He is stronger than I. Stronger and more deadly, and yet maybe I can hold him off for a time. We shall see.”

  Arandur finished his wine and put the glass down on the table. He settled back into the chair and his voice when he spoke again was hard with determination.

  “I do not know what the Turgil has planned. I must simply be ready for him when he does something. I will feel him begin to work his power and then we shall see what happens. Even as I can sense him, so too can he sense me. His power will most likely be used in three ways. The first will be to drive the Goblins into a frenzy so that they attack without regard for their lives. This he has already commenced. The next will be an attempt to reduce the morale of your men and the third a personal assault on the castle. Probably, all three will be used in conjunction.”

  “Morale is already low,” said the Duke. “The men know this is a battle they can’t win.”

  “True,” said Arandur. “But they are still willing to fight. They know they may well die but the spark of defiance is still there. The Turgil will seek to extinguish it completely.”

  “In many ways,” continued the Wizard, “I would prefer to take the attack up to him myself. Attack is the best form of defense and yet it will not do in this situation. Every day is precious. The longer we can draw things out the better. I feel sure that the Turgil does not yet know of Talon’s quest and that is much to our advantage. Should I attack and provoke him into something it will speed up the whole process. For the moment we must await events. The next move is his and we will have to wait and see what it turns out to be.”

  “I suppose so,” agreed the Duke.

  Kenrik felt better for talking to Arandur and the tiredness from fighting had begun to leave him. Could he properly lead the defense though when he had little left to live for? Could a man prepared to face death lead those who yet wished to live? Was it enough to bring all his determination and skill to bear without hope?

  “I better go back to the battlements,” he said.

  “I’ll join you,” said Arandur. “But I’ll give you one more piece of advice. “You must be careful. You’re the backbone of this d
efense. Should you fall the spark of defiance among the men will falter. The Turgil knows this and he’ll target you. You must take great care and be careful not to get too deeply involved in the fighting. I know that you lead your men from the front but you must pick the times and places where you fight with care. Never fight for long, and never fight on the same place in the battlements twice in a row. You must be unpredictable.”

  “I’ll do as you advise,” agreed Kenrik. He was unsettled by what Arandur said, but most of all by the depths of worry that had shown in his eyes.

  The Duke had a sudden realization. Arandur was concerned about Aren Daleth but there was more to it than that. He played in a larger game. This was but one move in a complex struggle that had long been engaged between Eruthram and the Wizards. And was not Eruthram, thought Kenrik, once a Wizard himself?

  Chapter 12

  The morning passed without event except for the cessation of the war drums. Kenrik and Arandur spent their time surveying the Goblin host from the battlements and from noon silence settled over the valley. Soon all movement ceased nor was any sound uttered by the horde.

  The intermittent hiss of the wind passing over the dagger-like ridges of Thromdar Mountain became loud and eerie. Shadows wreathed its steep slopes and it seemed to grow as though it were drawing a ragged breath after eons of long slumber and was now stirring to wakefulness.

  Boom! The war drums of the Goblins shattered the silence and the vast masses of the enemy commenced clashing sword against shield and stamping iron shod boots into the soft soil of the valley floor. It was becoming hard like stone and the grass was withered and browned.

  The drums strained to a higher crescendo and the hideous voices of the Goblins rose in an unholy ululation. They chanted their war cry with growing frenzy as the Turgil, an elusive shadow atop the hill, fed their fury with sorcerous power.